


Home for the Holidays

by MissMelysse



Series: Multiverse Pub [4]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV), Star Trek: The Next Generation
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-30
Updated: 2020-12-30
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:27:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28435362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissMelysse/pseuds/MissMelysse
Summary: Mr. Gold wasn't sure how he arrived in this not-a-tavern, but he was absolutely certain that doors were not meant to swoosh. A holiday fantasy that's adjcent to the CrushVerse. Data/Zoe. Gold/Belle (implied).
Relationships: Belle/Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold, Data (Star Trek) & Original Female Character(s)
Series: Multiverse Pub [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/734232
Kudos: 5





	Home for the Holidays

**Author's Note:**

> Continuity Note: The stardate converter that I've used throughout the CrushVerse stories puts the season breaks at the end of the calendar year, usually around Christmas, so I've kept that convention with this story, which is set a week or so before the Star Trek: The Next Generation series finale "All Good Things…." I borrowed Mr. Gold/Rumplestiltskin from the show Once Upon a Time, but I confess that I stopped watching in the middle of season two, and therefore this story doesn't truly mesh with canon. It also doesn't entirely mesh with the rest of the CrushVerse. Consider it a holiday fantasy, if you will.

He'd gone by many names in many realms – Rumplestiltskin was the most notorious, Weaver possibly the most accurate, and Mr. Gold - well, that one was the most ambiguous, and as a man who trafficked in ambiguity, he was content to continue using that one. Besides, the one person who mattered didn't need to give him a name. She knew his heart, his soul. That's what mattered.

He knew he hadn't arrived at his intended destination when the wooden tavern door he'd entered on the street _swooshed_ closed behind him. He'd been in many taverns, in many Realms, but one thing Gold knew was that doors were not meant to _swoosh._

Then again, this was no ordinary tavern. Instead of knotty pine, wood floors, and a crackling fire around which an array of miners and huntsmen might be singing and drinking (generally more of the latter than the former) this space was quiet, the colors muted, the floor covered in carpeting, and while the temperature was comfortable enough, there was no fireplace, crackling or not.

There _was_ a boisterous group raising glass bottles of something that reminded him of soda pop and singing through their jagged, snaggled teeth. They were bald, with overlarge ears, and while, at first, he might have mistaken them for an obscure breed of troll, the knowledge that they were aliens known as _Ferengi_ was somehow present in his brain.

There was a lot of strange knowledge making itself evident. Gold knew, somehow, that this not-a-tavern was on a spaceship. ( _Starship,_ the correction came unbidden. He wasn't certain of the difference, or if it even mattered, but… whatever.)

He hadn't planned to go out drinking. He was sure that his intended destination was somewhere a bit more mystical, a bit less transient. He had strong memories of pain and loss He remembered sacrificing himself in the hope that he would reunite with his love – Belle! – in death. But he wasn't dead. He was in a tavern that was on a spaceship. _Starship._ Whatever. At least if he were going to be forced off his intended path, he'd been sent somewhere warm, dry, and clean.

Spying an empty table on the far side of the room, he moved past the rowdy Ferengi. Based on the overheard conversation, some of them actually _were_ miners. Pity he wasn't staying. He could make some great deals with these men.

Gold skirted by another table, this one occupied by two officers wearing a particularly unflattering shade of mustard yellow. The darker skinned of the two was wearing some kind of spectacles that covered his eyes completely. He wondered if the person behind them had better vision thanks to that device, or worse. He watched for a moment as the pair made several moves in a three-tiered game of chess. He liked games, of course, but preferred those that were based on chance to those that relied on strategy and battle tactics.

Battle had never been his forte.

Finally, he arrived at his targeted table, only to find that it wasn't unoccupied after all. A young woman, with the same wild dark hair and fresh face that his Belle had once possessed, was sitting there, apparently waiting for someone. So similar were they, that for a moment, he almost thought -hoped – _wished -_ that this strange girl _was_ his lost love. "Excuse me…"

She looked up, and the illusion was destroyed, for though this woman's eyes betrayed the same kind of old pain his wife had tried so often to disguise, they weren't the bright blue he missed, but warm, dark brown.

"I apologize," he added, in his haste to correct his error. "I meant no intrusion."

The young woman's lips curved into a smile. "It's a busy day. I'm waiting for someone, but he won't mind if we share. I'm having Irish coffee, but Guinan can provide pretty much anything, and what she can't, the replicators can. Please sit?" She took a beat, then added, "You look a little lost. Are you with the mining consortium? I heard the Ferengi had outside administrators working with them."

"I'm not," Gold said, settling into the chair the other had indicated. "But I've worked with miners before, though I'm more familiar with huntsmen."

The young woman laughed. "Oh, I think the Ferengi could be considered huntsmen of a sort. If you count hunting for a mark, or a deal, or a bargain. Whatever you do, if anyone offers you self-sealing stem-bolts, run like your life depends on it… or your wallet."

"I'll try to remember that advice," he said, "Miss… ?"

"Harris. Zoe Harris. But I'm a civilian, so you can just call me Zoe."

"A civilian… on a military vessel?"

She cocked her head at him in a gesture that telegraphed her confusion. "Starfleet isn't _really_ a military organization. I mean, yeah, starships carry weapons, but they're primarily defensive. According to the brochure, their main goal is scientific research and exploration. Where are you from that you don't know that, Mister…?" She mimicked his earlier dangling question.

"Gold. I'm… Gold. And I guess you could say I'm from Earth, and I'm also from your favorite book of fairy tales."

Those dark eyes focused on him in a way they hadn't before, and she seemed to be listening to something he couldn't discern. "You _are_ lost, then," she said. "Well, no worries. You're on the right ship. We've got a lot of people here who are experts at assisting lost souls. Are you ready for a drink now? You look like you could use something a lot stronger than Irish coffee."

The woman – Zoe – gestured for a server to come, and Gold soon found himself face-to-face - well – face-to-brim – with a woman who was wearing the largest headdress he'd ever seen on anyone not identifying as an evil queen.

"Welcome to Ten-Forward," she greeted. "I'm Guinan and I'm in charge here. I tend bar, and I Listen."

Gold could hear the capital in the word, and he understood that this woman's 'in charge' was of a higher magnitude than any 'in charge' he'd ever been. And it had nothing to do with the headgear. 

"Mr. Gold is a little lost," Zoe informed the hostess. "And I think he could do with a scotch. Maybe Aldebaran whiskey, but somehow, I don't think that's quite what he's accustomed to."

"Aldebaran?" he asked. "Like the star?"

"Star _system_ ," Zoe explained helpfully. "Home to one of the best distilleries outside Earth. Or so I've been told. I don't care for whiskey."

Gold sensed there was a story there, but he didn't press. Instead, he turned to the woman with the hat. "Any kind of whiskey would be most welcome."

"Yes, I expect it would be," she said. He wasn't certain she meant to be cryptic, but he was accustomed to layers of meaning and didn't press _her,_ either. Especially since she touched his table-mate on the shoulder before she turned away. "Zoe, don't make any bargains with this one."

What was left unsaid was as obvious as the words that had been spoken. But Gold hadn't come here to make bargains. He hadn't intended to come here at all. "I've nothing to offer and nothing to gain," he stated, even though the hat-woman – Guinan – had disappeared.

"Not even a story? You said something about fairy tales."

"I'll give you a story as thanks for your company if you like, but it's not guaranteed to have a happy ending."

"The really good stories rarely do," Zoe answered. "Is there love and loss and a near-death experience?"

"That and more. There might also be an imp known for spinning straw into gold."

"Are you the imp?" she asked.

"I… might have been."

"My partner's father spun straw into gold… in a manner of speaking. How about if instead of a fairy tale you simply tell me where you're from and how you ended up on the _Enterprise_?"

"I believe our guest is the result of the anomaly we encountered approximately seven point two five hours ago," a new voice provided. "Guinan asked me to deliver this to you. I am Data." This man didn't wear any headgear, and the mustard uniform he was wearing did nothing for his skin tone, which was… gold. Pale gold. Almost white, except that it wasn't. "And I believe my fiancée has been entertaining you this evening." A glass was placed before him, the warm amber color rich against the background of space beyond the giant windows.

"There weren’t any tables free, and the Anticans are going to celebrate their winter festival tonight." She tilted her face upward and the gold man gave her a chaste kiss before settling into the chair between them

"Have you ever participated in an Antican winter festival?" Data asked.

"I've never even heard of Anticans," Gold answered, even though he knew – somehow – that they were canine humanoids accustomed to chilly climes. "But I'm always ready for a celebration." In truth, it had been Belle who loved parties. He'd only ever gone to please her.

Zoe laughed, "This is like nothing you've ever seen. They'll raise their pack totem on the dais over there in the corner, and it will remain for the next twelve days. Each evening they'll push a bunch of tables together and drink their winter grog and trade stories… and anyone around is invited to join for the price of telling a tale of their own."

"Zoe is leaving out the ritual meal of freshly killed meat." Data's tone was neutral, but Gold thought he might be faintly disturbed by the thought.

"It's not that different from steak tartare, really," she said. "And the hunt takes place on the holodeck these days… not for lack of trying to arrange it for some dirtside location." She sighed and looked away from both men, turning her attention to the stars beyond the windows. "You managed to do it to me again, Data… getting me on this ship for Christmas. Next year, that won't be an option."

"You asked me to save my leave for your spring break," the other replied. Gold felt the word _android_ prickle his consciousness and realized that the reason Data's expression was so inscrutable was that he wasn't human. The young woman's earlier statement about her partner's creator spinning straw into gold suddenly connected, and he found himself laughing.

The others at his table turned to face him. "Have I missed something humorous?" Data asked.

"No. No not at all," Gold assured him. "I'm finally catching up with some wordplay your fiancée made earlier. Forgive me."

"There is nothing to forgive. Especially as we have been excluding you from our conversation."

"Oh, no worries," he said, waving the hand that wasn't wrapped around his drinking glass. "You remind me of my wife and me when we were younger." He turned his focus to Zoe. "You look a bit like my Belle. At first, I thought… but she's gone, and I'm somehow here." He'd revealed more than he'd intended.

"I have noticed," Data said, in that matter-of-fact tone that Gold was learning was his baseline, "that people tend to enter Guinan's company when they need to and leave again when they have resolved some unnamed issue. Perhaps it is the same for you."

"Aye, perhaps," Gold said, and raised his glass in the golden man's direction. "There are worse places to idle away a few hours, anyway." He drank some of the whiskey, savoring the taste, then asked, "Do you mind if I ask… what's so bad about spending Christmas here? Seems like a fairly decent place."

Zoe signed. "Oh, it is, mostly. It's just… Christmas here is never normal."

"As you have often reminded me, dearest, nothing is truly 'normal.'"

"Data…"

"Zoe, I cannot help you 'feel better' about being here for the holidays if you do not explain your aversion. And it is possible that Mr. Gold can offer some insight that I have failed to perceive."

Addressing both men, she explained. "Something bad always happens at Christmas. I mean, my first Christmas as a resident of the _Enterprise_ , I may not have been aboard, but the Borg attacked, and Starfleet lost thirty-nine ships. My second Christmas, I was with my father on Centaurus…"

"… and there were no mishaps or dangerous incidents during that time…"

"Well, no, but you had to cut your visit short to help with that whole Romulan and Klingon situation."

"That is true, but it is also true that no one you know was injured during those events."

"Maybe not, but the _next_ Christmas, you lost your head, got lost in time, and tried to convince me that dying would make you more human somehow."

"I returned to you," he reminded her. "I have always returned to you."

Unspoken, and almost visible in the space between the two lovers was the truth that all civilians in partnerships with military officers must face: there would inevitably be a time when he would _not_ come back. Gold had never been a military officer. But he understood separation. And waiting. And _worrying_.

"And then there was last year," Zoe added, her voice soft. "And Lore."

The features of the gold man softened, and he looked down at the table. Reaching across the smooth surface, he covered his partner's hands with his own. "Lore is dead. He will not bother us again."

"I _know_ ," she said, though she did not pull her hands away. "I know," she repeated. "But I feel like… I feel like the entire time from December 21st to New Year's Eve I'm waiting for the other shoe to drop. It's not that I don't want to spend the holidays with you, Data. It's that I feel like spending them _here_ is tempting fate."

"I understand," he said. And somehow, Gold was certain that he did.

"Is everything alright here?" Guinan had returned, and Gold suddenly realized that the woman in the hat knew far more about his temporary companions, and likely about himself, than he would ever fathom.

"Young love," he told her, meeting her eyes – eyes that were darker, even, than the girl's. "Hope and loss and near-death experiences."

"Life, then," Guinan said.

"Aye, life."

The woman in the hat regarded him for a long moment. "I think the Anticans might like a story from you, Mr. Gold. Before you continue on your journey. Will you join me?"

He glanced at Data and Zoe, but the android and the young woman had moved into the kind of bubble that only young love could provide, oblivious to all around them. "They'll be alright?"

"They've been through a lot in their time together. They'll likely go through more. But yes, ultimately, they'll be alright."

_And me,_ Gold wondered. _Will I be alright?_

"I think I'd like to meet these Anticans," he said to Guinan. He left his chair, still holding the glass of whiskey, but he paused before leaving the table. "Data… Zoe…"

The pair ended their _sotto voce_ conversation and gave him their attention. "I knew a lad once whose heart might well have been made of wood. Love and faith made it beat, in time, and knowing where home was."

He wasn't sure if Data understood his meaning, but he could see the young woman digesting it. "Thank you," she said. "Safe travels."

Gold followed Guinan and her giant hat to the opposite corner of the tavern-that-wasn't, certain that once a story or two had been exchanged those weird _swooshing_ doors would lead him to his ultimate destination. Maybe the holidays weren't the same where he was going. Call it the afterlife. Call it Mt. Olympus – the name didn't matter. What _did_ matter was that Belle – his Belle! - would be there, waiting for him, and that was enough.

And as to the pair he'd just left, Gold knew better than to discount the intuition of a bartender. They'd be just fine.

**Author's Note:**

> This story was written as a secret Santa gift for one of my friends from the Dog Days of Podcasting group. Happy Holidays, Chris. I hope you like my creation. Anticans are a canine-humanoid race we initially meet in the episode "Lonely Among Us," but I referenced them in my novella Bedtime Story, as well. The list of Zoe's Christmas incidents comes from Crush, For Auld Lang Syne: Song for a Winter's Night, Bedtime Story, and Crush III: Sostenuto.


End file.
